children and cattle and goods had been taken from him—­and only his wife left! That struck him—­about the wife! ‘Hang it!  That was a big curse!’ said he.  ’Fancy leaving the wife!’ And the odd part of it was,” says Hescott, lifting his eyes and looking deliberately at Rylton, “that his wife was an angel, whereas he—­well, she was the Job of his life.  She had to endure all things at his hands.”

Rylton looks back at him, and feels his brow grow black with rage.  He would have liked to take him and choke the life out of him.

“A delightful story,” says he, with a sneer.  “So fresh, so original!"

“Very dull, I think,” says Mrs. Chichester, who can’t hold her tongue.  “An everyday sort of thing.  Lady Rylton, what do you think?”

But when they look round for her they find Tita has disappeared.

CHAPTER XIV.

HOW TITA FLINGS HERSELF UPON MARGARET’S BREAST; AND HOW MARGARET COMFORTS HER; AND HOW TITA PROMISES TO BE GOOD; AND HOW SHE HAS A MEETING “BY LAMPLIGHT ALONE.”

It is now eleven o’clock.  Margaret, who is in her own room, and has sent her maid to bed, is sitting over her fire dreaming of many things, when her door is suddenly opened and as suddenly closed, and, just as suddenly as all the rest of it, a little fragile thing runs towards her, and flings herself in a perfectly tragic fashion upon her breast, lying there prone—­lost, apparently, in an unappeasable outburst of grief.

“Tita, my child, my darling!  What has happened?” exclaims Margaret, pressing the girl to her. "Do look up, my dear, and tell me.  There is nothing new, surely, Tita.”

“Oh, I’m tired—­I’m tired of it all!” cries Tita wildly.  “I want to be done with it.  Oh, Margaret, I’ve said nothing, nothing! Have I, now?” appealing to her with great drenched eyes.  “But I can go on no longer.  He hates me.”

“Oh, hush, hush, Tita!”

“He does!  He was unkind to me all to-day.  He is always unkind to me.  He hates me, and he—­loves her.”

“I don’t think so.  I don’t, really.  Sit down, darling,” says Margaret, in great agitation.

“I know he does.  Did you see that he would hardly speak to me this evening, and——­”

“I thought it was you who would not speak to him.”

“Oh no, no!  I was longing to speak to him.  I can’t bear being bad friends with anyone; but, of course, I could not go up to him, and tell him so; and he—­what did he do?—­he spent the whole evening with Mrs. Bethune in the conservatory.”

“Tita, I assure you he was not alone with her then.  Mrs. Chichester——­”

“I don’t care about his being alone with her,” says Tita, whose mind is as fresh as her face.  “He was with her all the evening; you know he was.  Oh, how I hate that woman!”

“Tita, listen——­”